In Your Wildest Dreams (Wildcat Hockey, #4)
Rebecca Jenshak
1
YOU WANT A PUCK?
ASH
My pulse races as we walk down the tunnel. With every step the noise of the crowd gets louder. I hold my stick horizontally across my body, twirling it to release some of my nerves.
I let out a breath, roll my shoulders, and force my mind to focus. My eyes are locked on my teammate Declan in front of me. His broad back covered with the green jersey we all wear blocks me from seeing anything else, but when the first guys’ skates touch the ice, I know it. The roar inside the arena vibrates inside of me.
One by one, we take the ice for the first home game of the season. The buzz of excitement in the arena is electric. The night is ours and this moment is magic.
Fans have waited months for this. We’ve waited months for this. There is no better high than gliding around the rink while thousands of people jump to their feet and cheer. They need us to put on a show, but I don’t think they realize how much we need them too. The music is loud, the announcer louder, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest, nearly drowning out everything else.
When it’s finally my turn and my right skate touches the ice, I push out everything except the quiet sound of my skates gliding over the smooth surface of the ice. Fresh ice. There’s nothing better. It has this smell that I’ve never been able to describe, but I breathe it in with a huge smile. It smells like home.
Muscle memory sends me through my usual routine, skating around half the arena, finding a puck, and then firing it at the net before I skate back to center ice.
Slowly, everything else comes back into focus. My buddy and teammate, Leo Lohan, waits for me to stop beside him. His eyes scan the arena like he’s taking it all in for the first time. He’s been like this a lot lately—more aware, more in tune with everything.
“Have you ever seen this place so packed?” he asks, finally tearing his gaze away and looking at me. His eyes are wide with a wonder that has me smiling at him.
“First home game of the season is always like this,” I tell him. “But damn, it never gets old.”
“It feels different this year.”
“Would that have anything to do with the little guy sleeping in your wife’s arms?” Lifting my stick slightly, I aim it at Scarlett making her way down the steps of the packed arena with baby Callum.
Leo’s face lights up when he spots them, and he automatically starts moving toward them. I go with him. The little guy is cute as hell. Scarlett holds up Callum when we get close, showing off his Wildcat shirt, then turns him so we can see it has Lohan on the back. Baby’s first jersey for his first NHL game.
I know everyone says babies are all screaming, crying, pooping life-ruiners, but Callum is chill. He sleeps about ninety-five percent of the time, at least when I’ve seen him.
“How’s he doing with all the noise?” Leo asks even though the kid is wearing ear protection that looks like fuzzy, baby earmuffs.
She cradles him back in her arms. “Good. I’m going to take him up to the suite where it’s quieter and he can play with the other babies, but we wanted to say hi first.”
Leo places his gloved hand up to the plexiglass. I swear Callum tries to move his chubby little fist to meet it.
“Hey, Ash,” Scarlett says to me as her husband coos at their baby.
I nod toward Callum. “The little guy just needs some pads and a stick. I bet Coach Miller would make a spot for him.”
She smiles, expression soft even as she speaks with sass. “Don’t give them any ideas. They’re already talking about getting him in skates as soon as he can stand.”
Chuckling, I tap the glass like I’m offering Callum a fist bump, then I skate off to give them some time together, just the three of them.
It’s crazy watching Leo become a husband and father. It suits him though. Never seen him happier.
Stopping at the blue line, I drop to my knees and stretch. Just like every other part of the warmup, I have a routine here. I go through a series of stretches to loosen up, singing along with the music pumping through the arena. I have the best job ever in the best city ever. I don’t take even a single second for granted.
My teammates are all going through their own routines. Some of the guys like to focus only on warming up, others like to interact with the fans. More than a couple of guys are over by the glass to talk to their girls or families. The last two years, I’ve seen a lot of my teammates settle down. Married, kids, the whole shebang.
I scan the crowd. It really doesn’t get old no matter how many games I play in this arena. It’s still a trip every time I see someone wearing a jersey with KELLY across the back. A couple of girls holding a big glittery sign are waving at me. When I give them my attention, they hold the sign higher. Hey, #53. Put it in my five-hole!
Damn. I chuckle and wave at them, then keep scanning. A couple of kids have much tamer signs asking for pucks or sticks.
When I’m finished stretching, I skate over to the bench to get a marker, sign my stick, and then head over to one of the kids. A little girl with big brown eyes stands next to the glass with two other people who I assume are her dad and brother. She’s wearing a Wildcat jersey and her hair is in braids. She bounces in place as I stop directly in front of her.
“I like your jersey,” I tell her, then nod at her dad and smile at her brother. He looks to be about fourteen or so. He gives me a chin tip.
“They didn’t have any of yours, so I had to get this one.” She turns to show me our captain Jack’s last name and number. He’s easily the most popular guy on the team, but her lip curls like she’s really put out having to wear his jersey instead of mine.
“Jack’s a great hockey player and captain. Hel—” I catch myself before I swear in front of her. “Heck of a guy too.”
I hand my stick over the top of the glass. Her dad takes it and presents it to her. Her face lights up when her small hands wrap around the carbon fiber shaft. She gives her dad something and then he motions with his hand to indicate he’s going to throw it over. It takes two tries, but when I catch the item, a big smile stretches over my face. The little girl made me a friendship bracelet. Green and white beads surround my name and number. It’s small, obviously made for her tiny wrist.
I close my fingers around the adorable gift. “Thank you. I love it.”
Her smile grows a little shy. With one last wave, I head back to the bench to drop off my bracelet and the sharpie.
Lewis, one of our equipment managers, hands me a new stick.
“Thanks,” I say. “Can you hold on to this for me?”
I drop the bracelet in his hand. With a grin, he nods. “Sure thing.”
I start to skate off, then pause. “Can you get me an extra jersey?”